


Down Under

by TauntingTyrant



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Corrupted!Chris, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Electrocution, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, OTP: One of my best men, Pre-Revelations, Psychological Torture, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:04:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TauntingTyrant/pseuds/TauntingTyrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Open your eyes, Chris. Your <i>lovely eyes.</i>" His words are filled with contempt, nothing less for his best man, after all.</p><p>It's the year 2003, and Wesker decides to include Chris in his plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lost Days

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is based on the concept 'Resident Evil: Frailty' by Resident-Evil-STARS on Deviantart, a good chunk of it is inspired by her.  
> resident-evil-stars.deviantart.com/art/Corrupt-Chris-Cliffnotes-280052793  
> This is an AU, taking place before Resident Evil: Revelations, where Wesker ends up kidnapping Chris for being so much of a nuisance to his plans, with the intent to condition (Not brainwash, there's a difference) him into being his own little toy. The nature of this relationship is very unhealthy, be mindful of that as the story itself goes on.
> 
> UPDATE: I've decided that I'm going to rework what non-con means for this fic. It's tagged non-con because there will be a point where Chris is unable to properly consent (due to being under the influence of mind control devices). However, graphic sexual scenes... I think I've elected not to write them, unless it's a lapse in Chris' judgement and he fully consents. He's still being manipulated by his own past feelings (and Wesker), but he can still consent.
> 
> Dubious consent is now in the tags because like... He shouldn't be sleeping with his murderous ex-lover, but he is and he'll be conflicted about it.

Deep below the mansion, long forgotten by its owners and those who passed it, was a man who considered himself to be a visionary, his goal not yet set

It is the year that Umbrella's stocks plummet, and the year that the insufferable Chris Redfield decided to infringe upon his plans. But no matter, he could make new ones.Ones that were inclusive of the elder Redfield.

A bit _too_ inclusive, one would say.

He went in under the cover of darkness to Chris' temporary residence. He'd been trailing the man both directly and subtly over the past year. His sources were vast; his charm never failed him when it came to manipulation. A bit of charisma here, a forced smile there, and the promise of a monetary incentive, all enough to gain him the vast network of people who would tell him where Chris went, what he asked civilians about, and where he would stay as a weary traveler with an unknown motive.

And it all caught up to him, now Wesker had him in his clutches. Who could’ve known that it would be this easy? To capture his prey, rather than to kill it and revel in his victory.

The blond started his welcome with electro-shock therapy at Redfield's expense, and went on with far more devious tortures as part of the process.

Chris Redfield was his to keep for what would be the other man's eternity.

"Open your eyes, Chris. Your  ** _lovely_** eyes." His words are filled with contempt; Nothing less for his best man, after all.

_He’s dreaming... At least, he was before the tyrant decided to bring him back to the world. His dreams weren’t anything special. They were more or less just memories of his life so far, starting from his departure from to Air force to the days of the S.T.A.R.S Alpha and Bravo team. It was as if he was living some sick joke, being in his dreams with the knowledge of how it wasn’t ever intended to be real. That unit was never meant to help people, not like they thought it would. Umbrella lied, Irons lied, **Wesker** LIED to them and the people of the city. _

_Hundreds of thousands paid the price for Umbrella’s selfishness, their evil schemes, their greed. The knowledge of that was overwhelming in itself. The worst part was how the government retaliated in response to the infection. Chris could understand why they’d done it, but even with that in mind, he couldn’t forgive their deliberate cover-up of the incident. It was about as bad as when Irons covered up what happened in the Arklay Mountains. Now there was a blank space where Raccoon City used to be, without even a remnant to be seen._

He opens his eyes, squinting at the harsh light he’d been met with. Chris’ first action was to glare at his captor, suddenly aware of the position he was in once more. Things were still a bit fuzzy for him after the electro-shock had done its work. But he knew who he’d be staring down, as if it was predestined.

“Wesker.”

“Chris.”

It seemed like hours for the older Redfield in which they stared each other down. Now that he was conscious, he could take notice of the bindings around his arms and legs. Albert Wesker wasn’t stupid enough to leave him confined in anything that could be broken or weakened. Not before the older man could subdue his prisoner.

“I see you can still obey an order. Tell me, how is your memory after our little session?” The former Captain smirks, as if he knew what the answer would be. He wanted to hear it from Redfield’s lips; he wanted to see if the man would be truthful, or if he would try to cover up his fragmented memory.

“You know the answer already.” Chris would be damned if he admitted weakness to his enemy. In this situation, he was damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t. Wesker undoubtedly had more planned for him. The tyrant would’ve just killed him on the spot instead of capturing him if he didn’t. He knows how little it takes at this point, which means he was probably prepared for the fist that connected with his jaw the moment after he replied.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to answer questions from your elder?” The insult is meant to anger the other, and to poke at boundaries that were closed off a long time ago. Their history extended to wider areas than their workplace relationship. In those 2 years, more had transpired between them than Chris could forget.  
So when Wesker showed his true colors, it stuck with him. Everything he felt had died with the members of Alpha and Bravo. He could never forgive that, _never._ Hell, he couldn’t forgive himself for opening up to his Captain, even if he didn’t know about what went on behind the scenes.

He couldn’t forgive that remark either.

“You have no right to mention her, you piece of shit.” Chris gives the man in sunglasses a nasty glare, and it’s all he can do to defend himself at the moment.

“If you didn’t share your life with me so willingly, I wouldn’t have the power to. But you know all about that. After all, you shared so many secrets with me, and we both can’t forget that.” The blond pushes his sunglasses up, gaze fixed on the brunet. “It’s quite funny. The fact that I know more about you than you will ever know about me. You opened yourself up to me, and you have yet to realize that you no longer have the power to shut that door.” He taunts, gripping the man’s chin between his fingers, only to receive a look filled with enough fury to slaughter. ‘If looks could kill’, indeed.

Wesker’s smirk widens. "There's that fire, Redfield. But a nasty look alone could not stand to stop me. I could kill you and then go on. I could even occupy myself with Ms. Valentine, or even your sister. There are no limits to what I could do, what I am **willing** to do. The sooner you realize your position, the easier things become.” The tyrant chuckles, eyes glowing with mirth.

"I would do anything to make this your own personal hell. Think of the possibilities, Chris. I could kill you over and over, but you wouldn't die. No, you would become the monster your nightmares detail you becoming, at my side. Ready to die for me, and you would **_ALWAYS_** come back, never able to stray far enough. You would gain the eyes you could never forget after the first time you looked into them, we would be one in the same." Chris tries to turn his head, put at least a little distance between them to no avail.

"You would become my personal toy, my confidant, and my pet until the end of your eternity. Yet... So long as you are human, I can only kill you once. It has to be the **_PERFECT_** death, Chris. Just for _you_.”

The implications of what could... No, would happen was too much. Chris’ best friend and his sister were at stake. If he wasn’t over the edge, he sure as hell was now. He moved too quickly for the blond to anticipate, and flung his head forward, head-butting the man directly in the face.

Wesker only feels a slight sting, and the sound of a crack. The blond feel shards sliding down his face, and he doesn't need an expert to know that it's his sunglasses that were harmed most in this ordeal.

“You won’t touch anyone, because when I get out of this fucking chair, I will take. You. Down.” It was a bold move, and he knew it. Such big talk for the man at the mercy of a tyrant. Chris didn’t care about his own consequences; about what happened to him anymore, now that more was at stake than just himself.  He would fight as long as possible, even while trapped, trying to free himself.

"YOU LITTLE--"

The tyrant punches Chris in the temple, enraged beyond words. Had he put more force behind the blow, Wesker could have killed his prisoner.

 _'Not yet. There's much to be done'_ , the rational part of his mind supplies in his haze of blind fury.

It must be the perfect death, after all. But even the anticipation wasn't keeping his anger at bay. His eyes are on full display, like a fire that is no longer bound to a candle, free to devour everything in its path with flames in all its hellish glory. Chris Redfield was going to burn.

 

"Hmph. Seeing as you have the resolve to take me on, then you have the resolve to continue the session. Do try not to bite off your tongue, Chris." He paces over the machine he'd been using as a part of Redfield's welcome. Albert cranks the dial to a 'generous' setting.

He let the machine do its job, his face expressionless.


	2. Killing Me Softly (With His Song)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 years later. Here's a chapter  
> No promises on when the next one will be  
> Have some mind games, babes.  
> tw: for electro-shock therapy  
> Here's a look into Chris' mind, picking up from the previous chapter.

The machine whirred down slowly, the ringing in his ears more evident without the hum of machinery and electric currents there to remind him that he was being tortured through an electric chair. Chris couldn’t focus on the rawness of his throat, or the tight coil of his muscles that felt eerily similar to being pulled apart limb from limb. There was only the slow weightlessness that began when the machine came to life before delivering hot sparks of electricity through his nerves. It was like being struck with lightning with nowhere to run; He was held down by the bindings of the chair and watched by serpentine eyes behind black frames in the endless dark of the makeshift examination room.

The worst part of it all was forgetting. Vivid details became fuzzy in his mind. The night his parents died was a haze of gray static. His sister’s face as they were given the news was a faint echo, the only reminder that it happened being the dull ache of his heart. His pain was the only thing that kept him grounded in the hellscape that was Albert Wesker’s presence. The blond tyrant gained an endless thrill from that fact, pushing him to his limits with each session. It was all too much for him, but he didn’t have to let that fucking waste know. He didn’t owe him **anything** , not after that horrible night none of them had forgotten over the course of the last 5 years.

They say that time heals all wounds.  
But he hadn’t felt anything but the scars of his life so far.

Clearly, time **wasn’t** enough.

“Have you learned your lesson, Chris?” There was little amusement in that voice. It was almost as if Wesker were scolding him like a child who’d done wrong. It wasn’t an overt way of being patronized, but the concept was still there.

_It was like the old days._

“F-F-fuck off.” Chris couldn’t control the shakiness of his voice. He wasn’t flustered or embarrassed by any definition. If anything, Redfield would be defiant until the very end of his days. But when it came out like this, he sounded weak. Like less than his own man, a hardened soul who created his own crusade to fight the evils of Bioterrorism; Evils like Wesker.

“If you insist.” The tyrant approached the chair that currently confined the defiant brunet. Wesker yanked the headset off Chris’ head, setting it aside on the table. He then turned on his heel and made for the door.

“… So you’re just going to leave?”

“Your exact words were ‘fuck off’, were they not?” Irritating as always. Wesker had a way of turning his words against them every time, wielding them as weapons Chris couldn’t even begin to fight back against. This brought back too many memories he didn’t want to think about.

_It was all a lie._

_He used you._

_Why didn’t you wake up?_

The young man struggled to control his reaction to his conscience speaking out against him once again. Each day he spent in this place made it louder, more insistent. The relationship between his mind and his actions was an abusive one. For everything he did in this place, his inner consciousness scolded him. He was always too slow, or too useless to do anything. Every argument he made otherwise to keep himself sane was like a sick rationalization to keep alive where he was sure he’d never be found.

He could never win. And now Wesker was playing this game with him again, where he’d leave him for hours at a time until he begged for relief in the form of food or a bathroom break. The Tyrant wanted him to be reliant to the point of degradation.

“Just... Take me back to the damn cell.” He murmurs, resigned to fate. Chris knew he couldn’t handle being strapped down for much longer, not after the electro-shock. His muscles would lock and send him into painful spasms, the constriction of his limbs worsening his condition. Poor blood flow was on a list of many other problems he dealt with in his time here.

Just like that, Wesker’s lips curled into a devious smile. He was pleasantly surprised by this development.

“That’s better.” Chris felt the tight knot of his stomach, acid burning at the very pit. It physically hurt him to be complicit this way. But he knew his limits, he knew he couldn’t fight it. Not today. His mind was a patchwork of broken memories and frayed emotions stuck in a haphazardly arranged jigsaw. He had to fit things in places he hadn’t before. The most vivid memories, of fucking course…

They involved himself and his former Captain.  
When there was trust, when Chris Redfield believed that Albert Wesker was human after all.  
He couldn’t have been more wrong about anything in his entire life. He paid such a price for his naivety. Even at 25 years old, he couldn’t see the signs that the man he knew was a carefully constructed façade. He was an experiment for the Tyrant’s human life; while he still had it.  
And boy, did he make the perfect specimen.

Hatred burned through him.

Chris hated Umbrella for what they created.  
Chris hated Wesker for his lies, for killing some of the best people he’d known.

But most of all:

**_Chris Redfield hated himself for falling for it._ **

“You must’ve really hated me, before everything went to hell.” It’s a cheap shot, bringing the past into a discussion where he knew he had nothing to gain. He wanted a look into Wesker’s reaction, behind the switch of the machine, behind those stupid sunglasses. Just once, he wanted to win the battle of words with something.

Silence.

Soon enough, Chris was methodically untied, before being bound again in a pair of cuffs behind his back and lifted onto the blond’s shoulder. It was like some unspoken attempt to humiliate the younger man even more than he already had. The former point man took the lack of an answer for his words being ignored.

Chris was then dropped into the cell atop of the makeshift bed with less force than usual.

_What the-?_

“I quite enjoyed your company, back then.”

Before the young Redfield could even retaliate, he was gone.

 _“Son of a bitch…”_ Exhaustion began to overwhelm Redfield, slowly dragging him beneath the waves of a comfort called sleep.

If there was such thing as comfort anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wesker is playing games, it's just a matter of whether or not Chris' mind will collapse before his patience does.  
> Tune in, maybe comment? Some criticism would be appreciated! It helps me get into the right headspace to push out another chapter.


	3. A Thousand Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Resident Evil Vendetta was amazing in theaters, and Chris getting his ass kicked gave me some… Inspiration. Lucky you, you readers get to reap the benefits of the new movie <3 Beware, it's kinda dialogue heavy.

Sleep for him in this place was being pulled to the ground by gravity. Weightlessness hadn’t been a feeling he had the luxury of for a very long time. He was always so heavy, always so close to reality in the places where he could actually afford to distance himself from the horrors life had to offer. There was never a day of rest, never a day without his convictions. Chris had a cause, a movement to start. He was at the forefront, always ready to attack, always ready to fight what was thrown at him. Few people could understand the endless devotion he offered at the expense of himself. Those who could understand…. They worried endlessly for him.

Not that it did much to slow his momentum. He was still young, he needed to get all the work done before there was a day where he’d find himself looking back on all that he could’ve done when he had the energy. There was still time for him, time for all that he fought for.

That was what he told himself.

Now time was at a standstill, in a place where he wasn’t even allowed the time of day, or the rays of light that came down from outside the hidden facility. Anything more than he was given would inspire him to act, to get free of the hell of this down under. Wesker was a careful man, especially when it came to his _best man_. No unnecessary risks were taken in this place.

The company of his former lover was ensured for a **very** long time.

Chris began to force himself out of sleep, his own mind too much to handle.  
The sad truth was that his current situation wasn’t even the cause. Nightmares were commonplace for him, ever since the incident in Arklay Mountains. It was always the same sad song, death and infection at every corner. Sometimes it was his sister instead of him in that mansion, not making it out because she didn’t have the benefit of a friend to help her when she was in need. Sometimes it would be himself and Wesker alone in that laboratory, one final kiss, and then the embrace of death; Wesker’s hand pierced through his chest, red eyes boring into his own.

He slowly got up from the makeshift bed. It was time for his daily exercises, something to keep him in shape (as well as he could be for kidnapped and isolated from the outside world). There were days where Wesker would stand outside of the little cell, watching. It broke his focus at times, feeling those serpentine eyes follow his every movement. Almost as if Wesker would step in and eat him alive. Completely and utterly unnerving.

Lucky him, that wasn’t the case today. There was even a small tray of breakfast waiting for him.

A little while later, Chris finished the offering after he’d worn himself to near exhaustion. By that time, Wesker was once again outside of his cell, watching.  
That was their own little game, seeing who could go longest before the other broke. His former Captain wasn’t a chatty man, something that used to drive him up the wall. Chris was a social man, always needing to express something through words or actions, always needing to get out there and accomplish something. People admired him for it, he himself valued those skills when he wasn’t too deep in the bottle, or behind the trigger of a gun, taking on mission upon mission to satisfy his need for revenge against Umbrella. His tactical expertise could only get him so far.

Look at where it got him.

The younger man sighed, the silent concession.

“Talk to me.”

Silence.

“You brought me here to try and force me onto your side.”

“Wrong.” The blonde interjects, the very presence of composed.

“What does that mean?”

“Everything you do will be of your own volition.” Clearly, the tyrant knew something that Chris didn’t. As **always** , he had some grand scheme up his sleeve. Failures were turned to successes, his agenda furthered.

“Albert.” Frustration, weariness, subtle desperation.

“You asked, and I provided the answer.”

“You’re being vague. You were always… So fucking cryptic. You gave me little details, little clues to follow or draw my own conclusions about and go wherever you chose to lead me, even when we were together. I was your goddamn puppet, and I want to know **why**. Why the fuck didn’t you ever give me any answers, why did you never actually take the time to communicate clearly to me what you wanted me to do?!” Chris hated this, digging up old feelings from the past, but it was all he could do when the only form of human contact came in the form of a tyrant he’d once looked up to.

Albert shifted in his chair, leaning forward the tiniest fraction.

“You’re a smart man, Chris—“

  
“Don’t give me that. “

“I trusted you to be able to find the right answer in your heart. In and out of the office, you were my best man—“

“Stop. Stop calling me that.” It’s the closest to a plea he will let himself get. The memories that title dug up were too much. It brought back a time where he admired the older man, where he would’ve done anything to please him. It left Chris uncomfortable, empty. As if he’d missed out on something all these years, when it was all a lie.

The silence that follows is painful, time passes at a rate he can’t measure. It’s like he’s being punished for his discomfort. Deprived of contact.

“It was never a lie, Chris. Of all those I’d taken to forming connections with, ours was the strongest.” It feels sincere, for its cold nature. Everything about how Wesker spoke was calculated, careful. Guarded, even.

“Sure didn’t stop you.” He shakes his head, the words spat out with a bitterness that time failed to lessen.

“I had no choice in the matter, connections or not. Whether or not I’d chosen a different path in that lab, your fate would’ve been the same. If not me to lead you there, then another.”

“But it was still you.”

“You say that like it makes much of a difference.”

“It made a difference to me, alright?!” He stares hard at the man in front of him, lip curled into a scowl. His emotions always got the better of him, especially when it came to **them**.

What Chris wasn’t expecting was for the tyrant to remove his sunglasses, staring him down openly with those damned eyes.

“Why?”

“Fuck you.” Chris growls, turning from the man. His rage boiled beneath the surface as old feelings were thrown back in his face. He didn’t want to remember what that man meant to him, or how much it hurt to know that everything he treasured was a fantasy. That tyrant didn’t **deserve** to know about the heart he’d broken.

And he sure as hell didn’t want to face Albert Wesker, challenging him to open up once again. His heart wouldn’t take that. Not at that moment, and not ever again. He was to learn from his mistakes, not repeat them. Even with the past calling to him, he had to soldier on, move forward. He would leave this place, he would end everything Wesker stood for.

He had to.

“I only asked you a question.”

“You know what you’re doing. You’re trying to get me to open myself up again, and it’s not gonna fucking happen. I’m not the idiot you take me for.“

“Yet again you assume what **I** think.”

That was enough, his patience had run out. Before the younger man could properly react, Wesker was standing before Chris, sanguine eyes staring into brown.

“Goodnight, dearheart.” The older man jammed the syringe into Chris’ neck, catching the man when he crumpled. After all, a concussion would keep them apart for longer, and that just wouldn’t do.

“We’ll be sure to pick up where we left off last.” A sickening smirk made its way to Albert’s face, telling of what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhangers, yes. Didn’t say I’d start the parts you all came here for, now did I? I know, I’m a cruel monster.  
> But here was a chapter dedicated to building the tension regarding what they used to be. It’ll come in handy later in the story, I promise you. 
> 
> Also, this chapter isn’t meant to humanize Wesker. He’s still doing what suits him best, he just wants to pull Chris around on that leash again. It’s sick, but he loves it. (and I know y’all love it too)


End file.
